It Doesn't Hurt
by JusticeLove
Summary: How could it? It really doesn't feel like anything...


They won't hesitate to send you off to the psych ward if they see you now.

Pungent fumes from the bottle of bleach circulate in the closet. Tears well in your eyes but you don't notice as you tilt your head back. The rim of the container rests on your lips.

Is this really what it's resorted to? Are you really about to try this? You are. You do. And you regret it.

The urge to gag is ignored as you chug down the chemicals, eyes screwed shut. Apparently, you can still taste, and bleach sure tastes God awful. When you feel you've drank enough of the poison, you put down the bottle and wait.

Nothing.

No burning, no groaning, and certainly no dying. You strike the bottle with the back of your hand making a mess of the remaining liquid. Bleach seeps into the fabric of your pajama bottoms but you don't notice. How would you have noticed? That water forming in your eyes from earlier flows down your face. You wouldn't have noticed if it wasn't for the blurred cleaners and detergents in your view.

You had attempted everything. All that you could imagine. Stabbing, falling, twisting, cracking, ripping but nothing worked. You bury your head in your knees and your long blonde hair helps block out the world crumbling around you. You thought you were strong. Miss Head Cheerleader could never be brought down, never be broken. She was invincible- on top of the world. How wrong you were. How horribly wrong. What you wouldn't give to be able to feel again.

"Claire?"

You lift your head and wipe the result of your troubles away with the back of your sleeve. Now isn't the time for crying. Crying wouldn't help and you knew that. Standing, you see the puddle of bleach on the floor and decide to clean it up after you go change clothes. You peek outside to make sure no one is in the hallway. The closet door shuts silently after you walk out.

"Yes, mom?" Thankfully, your voice manages to keep from cracking. It sounds like she's in the kitchen. Smells like it, too. Saturday mornings were the most aromatically pleasing days of the week. Sweet syrupy pancakes, crisp flavorful bacon, and the best scrambled eggs ever prepared mixed and mingled in the house, creating the perfect scent that reached the noses of all in the building. You used to love Saturday mornings. Used to.

"Breakfast is almost ready, wake your brother up for me, alright?"

"Okay," you said with a nod even though she clearly couldn't see the notion. Across the hall, you carefully maneuvered to your bedroom and quickly closed the door once you safely get inside. Breaths flow slowly in and out of you. Calm down. You needed to keep calm for their sake and your own sanity. Put on that smile that says everything's okay. That's the signature Claire smile. Mom loves it and you love your mother, so keep her happy.

You take off your ruined kitten embellished pants and trade them for a clean pair of zebra print bottoms. A black ponytail ring sitting on your dresser is used to tie back your tresses.

Time to go clean up.

* * *

If this didn't work, you'd give it up for good. You'd stop the madness and just find away to end it. You didn't care if Sylar came hunting you down for your powers anymore. The murderous man could slice open your head with a flick of his finger and take them. He could have them if it meant you'd be able to be normal again. If you could feel again.

Even though you didn't notice how cold it was, you still put on a jacket and scarf before leaving the house. Mom had been yelling at you about keeping warm. Dad would've too if he were home. But you didn't feel like thinking about your father right now. Just another sore spot on the horrible thing that is your life.

The lights and loud blaring horns make you turn your head to the oncoming train. This is it. Time to find out. You have to feel your body getting smushed into several pieces. It has to work. It just has to.

Rhythmic clacks from the tracks help ease your mind as you close your eyes, accepting whatever fate brings. Just as long as fate brings you back all feeling, you'll be at peace. All you want is peace.

"Claire!"

You don't hear the call of your name. You're too focused on the wonderful pain you'll soon feel when that speeding bullet collides with your frail body and breaks every singe bone in your body. Then the shooting searing stings of your mutated genes working to reconstruct you back in one piece, healing all your wounds. What a wonderful feeling it will be. Please let it be.

It hasn't hit? The train looked pretty close before you closed your eyes. Before you open a blue orb to take a peek, you hear a shout. Your eyes fly open once you realize that the train didn't hit. It was never going to hit. You were never going to feel it.

Peter shakes your shoulders violently. You stare at your uncle remaining completely unresponsive.

"Are you completely insane?!" Yes. No. Maybe. You don't know anymore. You don't know anything and you surely didn't feel anything.

**A.N.- The idea for this seriously came out of thin air. I guess it maybe because I finished watching Heroes months ago and now have started watching The Tomorrow People so part of me misses the characters in the show(?) I think it was around the second season when Claire said she couldn't feel anymore whenever she got hurt. I maybe made her a little OOC but she did pull that train stunt if I remember correctly.**


End file.
